


The One With The Scabbiest Knees

by AlphaStarr



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Fictional Religion & Theology, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, Spoiler-y Tags In Endnotes, graphic depictions of injury, reclassing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaStarr/pseuds/AlphaStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was Libra who always started it, despite what the others may have thought.</i>
</p><p>Or, five times Libra gets on his knees, and one time Lon'qu returns the favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Libra first gets on his knees when he realizes, yes, Lon'qu looks downright //edible// in that yukata.

**Author's Note:**

> this looks like pwp but i swear to god there's plot. it's somewhere.
> 
> army = shepherds (elite taskforce) + feroxi army + anyone else who happened to defect during plegia and valmese arcs. i like to imagine that Libra and Maribelle run all of their healing in-between battles, hence the doctor references.
> 
> **warning tags for potential spoilers at the end notes. thanks!**

It was Libra who always started it, despite what the others may have thought.

He was still hesitant about touching and being touched, especially after so many years where he only ever came in contact with others when wounds were involved-- healing them, dealing them, receiving them. Lon'qu could understand that; it had been much the same in his own experiences, and sometimes he still flinched when women drew just a step too near.

But Libra, for Libra it was everyone, and he was only just starting to cease flinching when Lon'qu brushed past him too closely, and so the swordsman thought it best to let Libra set the pace of their relationship. He said nothing about it, but somehow it was understood: between them, it would be Libra who always started it.

And it was Libra who softly reached out for his hand as they walked beside the convoy heading south. It was Libra who smiled and pecked Lon'qu's lips in affection, pressing their foreheads together as he laughed warmly. It was Libra who crawled into his tent one night when he'd been thrashing about in his sleep, consumed by nightmares, and comfortingly lulled them both back to sleep. It was Libra who, after that night, never moved back out.

And still was it Libra who breathlessly kissed him in the steam of the men's hot springs, tangling his fingers in the nape of Lon'qu's neck and pulling him in. His other hand gently tugged at the opening of Lon'qu's yukata, a silent request, even as his mouth parted and invited Lon'qu's tongue to enter. Lon'qu wasn't about to refuse him on either account.

He pulled the cloth covering his chest to the side, shedding it over his shoulders so that it drooped around his elbows. Anything further would require removing his hands from their perch on Libra's waist, or undoing the excessively intricate obi knot at his back, and frankly he didn't have the patience for either. Libra seemed appreciative enough, at least, from the soft noise he made in his throat and the fingers that traced the lithe muscles of Lon'qu's shoulders.

In the wake of a long (but, strangely, not horrifically difficult) battle, the others had all left to finish the changing that they'd been working on. But Libra, apparently, had other ideas, even if he was still half-clad in only pantaloons and a tunic. His tongue was vaguely wetter than usual, Lon'qu thought even as he kissed him-- sloppier, yes, but lustier, too. Libra was already hard, the proximity of their bodies doing little to conceal his arousal. Lon'qu was most definitely getting there himself as his groin filled with heat, and his cock only stiffened further as Libra pressed their hips together, frotting desperately at the hard line of Lon'qu's erection.

 Lon'qu thumbed the waistband of Libra's trousers, sliding minutely down Libra's waist, careful in his restraint so as not to break his silent promise with something as insignificant as his physical desires.

"Mmmn," Libra's hips stuttered, his lips parting from Lon'qu's in a groan. "N-not yet. Please, let me-- let me try something."

Lon'qu grunted his assent, rolling his hips up against the friction of Libra's grinding. They'd gotten off like this before, writhing heatedly against each other when flushed kisses became too much to bear, hands wandering below beltlines to stroke through clothing, but if Libra wanted to "try something," then Lon'qu was more than willing for whatever it was. All of Libra's "something"s thus far had been exceedingly enjoyable for both of them.

Still, he was unprepared for when Libra's fingers trailed over his chest, down to where the obi tied his yukata together, and then dropped to his knees, pressing his face against the tented fabric there. His fingers began to part the okumi as he breathed, "May I?"

Startled though he was, Lon'qu answered (perhaps too quickly), "Yes."

Libra pushed away what felt like entirely too much fabric, the obi falling apart from the motion, and then he pushed that away, too. Libra's eyes flickered to the jut of Lon'qu's cock, the flush of its head, the curve of its shaft, the balls that hung heavily beneath. Before he truly realized what he was doing, his tongue had flickered out to the corner of his parted lips, tracing the edge. Lon'qu began to feel a bit lightheaded as Libra's hands trailed reverently up his thighs, wearing the look of a man who hungered, who desired.

"You'll tell me if you don't like it?" Libra asked, uncertainty crossing his features as his fingers stopped just short of Lon'qu's groin.

Lon'qu exhaled for a second, pressing his thumb to his own lip and then to Libra's in the mime of a kiss, "Yeah."

Libra's fingers stroked him tentatively, then, before he grew bolder and wrapped his fingers around the shaft. His other hand wandered, uncertain where to find purchase, first lightly cupping Lon'qu's balls and then thumbing the crease where hip met thigh, reminding Lon'qu not to just forcefully rut into the contact. He released a groan of aroused frustration, Libra's fingers so much lighter and more careful than when he handled himself, and yet that too felt good. There was, of course, no way he could finish like this, but the gentleness of Libra's hand on his bare flesh was plenty enough to make him desire all the more.

It had taken Libra quite a long time to learn the language in which Lon'qu spoke, half terse phrases and half guttural noises, but he felt the emotion through the vibrations of his chest more than anything. It was as sure a sign as any that he could proceed, and so he slowly pressed the tip of his tongue to the place where a thick vein pulsed beneath his cockhead, taking his first taste of another man's erection.

Lon'qu outright moaned, then, his hips giving a small, aborted jerk as he started, then attempted to prevent himself from shoving his cock against Libra's face. It had almost worked, except for where he'd painted the corner of Libra's lip with a glistening line of pre. This was, apparently, all the approval Libra needed to bolster his confidence, and he sloppily licked his way down the underside of Lon'qu's cock, offering but one or two laps against his balls before making the trip back up. Soft, pleasured noises passed his lips against Lon'qu's flesh as he licked and pressed his humid mouth upon it in alternation.

His lack of experience was evident, even Lon'qu (with his own _extremely_ limited experience) knew that much, but he frankly didn't give a damn. Libra's mouth was still the best thing that had ever been on his cock, and it only became more intense as Libra took the cockhead into his mouth and _sucked_.

Another guttural sound escaped him, and Lon'qu had to fist his hands in the yukata in order to avoid doing something stupid, like grabbing Libra's cheeks or his jaw or his hair. And then Libra began to lower his head, seeing how far he could take him without gagging, holding him back with only the hand that wrapped around the rest of his cock, and a grumble of alarm was the only warning Lon'qu managed to give before he was cumming, the first glob catching Libra by surprise as he pulled away, still dripping from his mouth as Lon'qu gracelessly finished against his chin.

Lon'qu sucked in a breath, rushing to wipe his release from Libra's face with his sleeve, "Sorry."

"It's fine," Libra assured him with lips that were still smeared with translucent fluid. "I was... I was merely startled."

"Sorry," Lon'qu repeated, his face burning in embarrassment as he did his best to clean away the evidence of his orgasm. "I-- you haven't--"

"No... I have," and Libra, slightly guiltily, withdrew a tacky hand from within his trousers. "Quite a bit before you did, actually... I apologize."

One last shot of arousal shuddered in Lon'qu's spine, and he carefully helped Libra to his feet, "Don't. That's good."

"We should probably go clean ourselves up," Libra sighed, tilting in Lon'qu's direction like he wanted to lean against him. Lon'qu was happy to oblige, caressing Libra's cheek and guiding it to his bare shoulder. Libra's head rested there, and he smiled, "Before anyone finishes dressing."

"Most people take over half an hour to put on a yukata," Lon'qu informed him. "There's time."

"Oh..." something in Libra's voice fell, and Lon'qu desperately hoped he hadn't said something to upset him. "You did look rather good in yours. And here I was, completely undoing your hard work..."

"I'm not most people," Lon'qu assured him. There was enough similarity, he thought, between a swordmaster's robes and Bathrealms dress. It had been the only reason he'd managed to be changed at all when the earlier battle started.

"Then, perhaps," Libra breathed, the pleasant warmth of Lon'qu's shoulder and the steam making him heady. "Just a moment more?"

"Mm," Lon'qu hummed his agreement, and tilted his head to rest upon Libra's.

 


	2. Libra's only regret about sparring with the man he loves is that, sometimes, he's too attractive to really go all-out against.

Lon'qu would be lying if he said he never thought of Libra's mouth  _that way_ in the weeks following their tryst at the hot springs.

But errant thoughts would strike him at inopportune times, now that they were once more on the warpath. The way he would look when having his morning tea, lips parted as he cooled a boiling sip. The softness of his smile as he made small talk while they marched. The tender, sweet, just-this-side-of-not-enough bedtime kisses that plagued Lon'qu when he laid awake, insomniac. The cringing grimace he wore when his axe dealt a particularly gruesome blow, teeth snagging on his lower lip _just so_. Lon'qu wouldn't admit to himself that he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Libra's mouth, but even _he_ knew it within his heart.

Even now, as they sparred, Lon'qu grew distracted by the way Libra would suck in a deep breath after a particularly vigorous swing, his stamina starting to fail him. Lon'qu was in no better condition, each lightfooted step thudding down heavier than the last, and sweating so heavily in the Plegian sun that he had removed all but his trousers and the lightest underlayer of his tunic. But rendezvous with the Plegians would be in less than half a fortnight, provided there were no sandstorms before the next pass, and none of the Shepherds could afford to waste a spare moment that might be used to improve themselves in preparation for the confrontation to come.

"Hrragh!" Libra's face twisted into a snarl as he pushed his strength behind an exceptional swing that would have felled a lesser warrior than Lon'qu.

As it were, the swordsmaster fell backwards to avoid the initial swing, and used his leverage against the ground to pass Libra on the side opposite his axe's recoil. He was quick enough that even when Libra changed the direction of his momentum, he remained far out of his lover's reach, "Hnf."

A thick bead of sweat slid down Libra's nose, ending cupped in the Cupid's bow of his mouth, and Lon'qu almost lost his focus completely when Libra's tongue flicked out to lick it away, remembering the same motion in an entirely different context. The priest's shoulders cracked stiffly, then, exhausted from the lengthy practice, "I would hate to see what you can do to an enemy now, if this is how you fight an ally."

"Could say the same for you," Lon'qu answered, wrists aching as he carefully lowered his sword.

He watched for Libra to do the same, but after a moment of awkward pause, "Lon'qu, I... don't think I can bend my elbows anymore."

"You..." Lon'qu narrowed his eyes as he realized that of course Libra was sore; monks hardly fought with the same limberness myrmidons did. His sword fell carelessly to the ground as he placed his fingers over Libra's, tenderly wrested each knuckle from the axe haft with a sickening crack each time. He dropped the axe in the sand before frantically trying to knead away the cramping and tension in Libra's fingers, and then his elbows, "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Libra cringed as Lon'qu massaged a particularly miserable cramp out of his wrist. "I deflected all of your hits, I'm not injured."

Lon'qu looked down at Libra's hands, then looked back up at him and scowled.

"It'll be all right in a moment," Libra assured him, the same trust-me-I'm-a-doctor voice he used on soldiers whose wounds were particularly serious. Rather more intimately, he added, "You're holding my hands."

"Um," Lon'qu wiped the sweat off his neck sheepishly, then grimaced at its grossness and wiped it off again on his pants. "Sorry. Should've asked."

Libra chuckled, "You don't have to ask to hold my hands. I... quite enjoy it."

"Even...?" Lon'qu gestured vaguely to his state of disarray.

"Oh, _especially_ ," Libra murmured, snagging a thorough kiss. And if Lon'qu had thought it was difficult to avoid thinking about Libra's mouth _before_ , it was nigh impossible now, when it was pressing against his lips so sweetly.

Plegia's summer sun was still high, but most of the other Shepherds long ago left for dinner. The few that remained were fortunately discreet enough to refrain from commenting as the pair passed by, both hands still awkwardly entwined, Lon'qu subtly tugging Libra's fingers in the direction of their tent, and Libra following only too willingly.

The sweep of an opened tent flap had barely passed when they began kissing again, Libra's lips tasting faintly of the salt of sand, of sweat. And though the most painful cramps had long ago passed from his fingers, Lon'qu continued to massage Libra's open palms and stiff knuckles.

"You know," the priest murmured, every joint cracking as he flexed his fingers into Lon'qu's touch. "Your tunic was almost transparent just now."

"...and?" Lon'qu grumbled, too used to training with shirtless barbarians in Ferox to really care. He pressed the softest of kisses to Libra's mouth, silently begging him to return to making out.

Libra gave in for only a moment before he remembered that he'd been speaking, "It was... distracting. Attractive."

"Tch," Lon'qu answered, fingers gliding up Libra's arms, his throat, his face. "Could say the same for you."

Libra laughed, then, his teeth catching against Lon'qu's lip as he went in to kiss him more deeply, more thoroughly. Lon'qu held Libra's jawline in turn as he lapped softly against muffled smiles.

"Let me touch you?" Libra pleaded, even as his knuckles cracked when they reached for the ties of Lon'qu's pants. They both winced; Libra at the painful cramping, and Lon'qu at the agonizing noise.

"No," Lon'qu answered, his fingers once more flying to massage away the tender stiffness, deftly pressing against the knots. Though he wasn't sure whether he was apologizing for the injury or for the refusal, "Sorry."

But then Libra sighed, that same wistful noise he would make when stitching together dolls for orphanages, and smiled his smile that looked happy enough except it didn't quite reach his eyes, "A shame. You look so very, very wonderful right now..."

Lon'qu quieted him with a tender, lengthy peck in a last-ditch attempt to quell the brew of guilt, frustration, and lust that bubbled in his gut. He answered shortly, "You're injured."

"I'll be fine," Libra replied, with the same doctor's voice he used when he brewed a sleeping draught too strong for any one man, and told a dying patient that it was the only thing left he could do. Then, more softly, his cheek resting against Lon'qu's neck, "But if you truly do not wish for me to touch you, then I more than understand."

Lon'qu turned his head and kissed the part of Libra's hair, cheeks flushed, "I want it. You. But it would hurt."

"And if I... didn't use my _hands_?" Libra suggested, not at all flirtatiously but still so incredibly _hot_.

"I... could be amenable to that," Lon'qu admitted, trying to cover his red cheeks.

That was all the consent Libra needed to drop to his knees, hitting the sand with a heavy thud, trying to fumble Lon'qu's pants open with an aching thumb. The swordsman hurriedly undid them for him, lest he twist his hand into another painful cramp in the next attempt, and Libra barely waited before hungrily pressing his face against the exposed skin as Lon'qu inched the sweat-dampened pants down his hips until they fell to the floor, picking up entirely too much sand. The priest took a deep inhale, nuzzling his nose against Lon'qu's bare hip before flicking his tongue out in desire, lapping once or twice against the side of his shaft. Lon'qu shuddered at the first touch of his moist tongue, and carefully touched to top of Libra's head in an unspoken question, stroking a single finger over the silk of his hair.

"Oh, _yes_ ," Libra fairly moaned, and Lon'qu threaded his digits through his lover's hair just as Libra began pressing against him with the flat of his tongue instead, missing as often as coming on mark and licking over awkwardly to moisten Lon'qu's abdomen. He reached to correct himself with the hands that sat loosely cupped over his lap, but Lon'qu guided his cock into the pathway of Libra's desperate mouth, and twitched his fingers against his scalp besides.

They found their rhythm like that, Lon'qu softly groaning and sighing as Libra's lips played against his erection, as his tongue circled the leaking head. Libra hummed, fidgeted, trying to press the heels of his palms against his own bulge.

" _Libra_ ," Lon'qu outright pleaded when the priest took the tip into his mouth and sucked hard, flushed pink lips pressed against his skin like they were made to be there.

"Mmmnh," Libra answered incoherently around a mouthful of cock, his eyes crinkling at the edges with a faint glimmer of a smile. He let the purpling glans slip from his mouth, began to tongue his way sloppily back down, and though it didn't exactly feel bad, it was still nowhere near enough pressure for Lon'qu to feel very much.

"Harder," he growled, gritting his teeth to prevent himself from tugging on Libra's hair. " _Please_."

"Mmmh?" Libra flicked his tongue away, not entirely sure what he meant. "Pardon?"

"It's good," Lon'qu blurted out, awkward and stuttering and trying to figure out the least embarrassing way to convey what he wanted. "I'm... you're good. Just. Press down harder, will you?"

"Ah. Of course," Libra's eyes twinkled just a bit before he pressed his tongue more firmly against Lon'qu's cock, all evidence of his more delicate licking gone. He parted his lips, then, and sucked firmly, like forming a hickey but without the teeth.

Lon'qu shuddered, groaned when Libra took the first inch or two into his mouth, the hand that had only been guiding his dick beginning to stroke it at the base instead. His loins tightened, cock twitching as he grunted, "I'm going to--"

"Mmmn!" Libra cut him off as he sucked more wetly, more furiously, his hollowed-in cheeks colliding against either side of the dick in his mouth, and Lon'qu unceremoniously spilled over his tongue, hips twitching in (almost completely) restrained thrusts.

"S-sorry," Lon'qu cringed as he pulled out, pulling his tunic off so he could wipe away the mess over Libra's saliva-slicked lips. Not like a sweaty tunic was much of an improvement, but it was better than nothing.

Libra coughed and gracelessly spilled the mouthful of cum into the cloth, taking it between his aching hands and wiping away the whitened fluid from mussed lips. He breathed, and smiled in that way that was happy and not merely contenting, "Don't, that was... that was...  _oh_."

Libra's ruddied lips fell open as he attempted to process _Lon'qu_ and _shirtless_ all within the same thought. There were thick, white scars that were the remnants of earlier battles, the muscles of his shoulders and pectorals on display, lithe and spectacularly shaped. He abruptly realized that, yes, he _had_ just spit out into Lon'qu's shirt, which wasn't likely to get cleaned until they reached the oasis near Plegia Castle, and blushed deeply as he realized that, _no_ , Lon'qu could not spend the next three days completely shirtless, no matter how much Libra wanted him to.

"I'm, um," Lon'qu coughed nervously, even his exhausted cock giving a half-hearted twitch at the hungry way Libra eyed him. His gaze flickered down to where cloth tented at Libra's crotch. "You haven't finished yet."

"So I haven't," Libra agreed, lifting himself from the floor, wincing as his wrist cracked.

"Let me," Lon'qu offered, brusque but not unkind. He held Libra by the waist, let the priest sling his arms over Lon'qu's shoulders, began to carefully stroke him through the fabric. Gentle, because Libra had once, months ago, hissed and cringed when Lon'qu had fondled him too roughly.

Now, though, he panted and sighed and pressed his forehead against Lon'qu's neck, whispering his name over and over (like a prayer, Lon'qu thought involuntarily). With a deep, keening groan, he came inside his pants, a certain dampness leaking through the fabric and sticking tackily to Lon'qu's fingers.

They stood there for a moment, breath mingling on each other's skin, Lon'qu inhaling the scent of Libra's hair as Libra let his head rest heavily on a firm shoulder. There was a certain intimacy to the way they slowly unstuck themselves from each other, their arms falling away with such reluctance.

"Bathing tent?" suggested Lon'qu. "Then dinner?"

"Bathing tent," agreed Libra. "And then dinner."

They shared their bathwater, sponge, and soup, and quietly exchanged looks with each other as they listened to Robin and Frederick try to discuss the army's finances, and determine when they would next be able to restock. Lon'qu's real sword, not the wooden one he practiced with, needed to be repaired as well, and Lon'qu muttered a sarcastic joke about his practice blade having seen enough experience to enter a real battle. Libra laughed, but secretly prayed it would not come to that.

 


	3. ... Libra, actually, has a lot of regrets. And he hopes, desperately, that none of them will be Lon'qu's, too.

Libra was tenser than ever on the eve of the Plegian rendezvous, even when the army's supplies were refreshed by a visit to the strangely abandoned farms near the oasis and the timely arrival of an Anna Caravan. Lon'qu wanted so badly to reach out and comfort him, but when Libra was like _this_ , sometimes he would flinch even if he saw something move from the corner of his eye. It was never a good idea to draw too close to a frightened animal, humans included, and Lon'qu knew that he would have to use something far clumsier than his hands if he wished to offer any comfort.

His... _words_.

Walking from the camp's training area, carefully in the full view of Libra from several feet away, Lon'qu made his approach obvious. The last thing he needed was to eat a ladle to the face because he'd surprised him by mistake. And then, choosing each word with a slow cautiousness like they were poison, "Are... you all right?"

Libra gave pause as he stirred the soup, sending a tired smile in Lon'qu's direction, "As all right as I can be this close to the Plegian Castle. There's just... something about this place that unnerves me. I know it's silly, but I have a bad feeling about it. I'm sure it's nothing, though."

"... Emmeryn died the last time we were here," Lon'qu ventured. The dark expression Libra wore indicated that the swordsman had been spot-on in his guess. "The fault wasn't... we did all we could to stop it."

"And yet still not enough," Libra sighed, taking a deep breath to quiet his racing thoughts. "I can't help thinking... my brothers, my sisters, giving their lives in order to save her, and yet their sacrifice for naught."

Lon'qu pursed his lips, not exactly sure how to respond to that. What could he possibly say that would offer even a shadow of comfort? He decided at last on the truth of his own opinions, "They didn't die for nothing. You lived."

Libra laughed, but it turned into a sob halfway through, "I suppose I did. I kept-- kept thinking about what I would have said, if I knew that it was going to be their last day in the realm of the living, and not mine. But words... they're not..."

"Not enough," Lon'qu finished quietly as Libra, too choked up to continue, took a deep breath or two to stave off his tears. He paused, then, a flicker of sadness across his own face, "I would've, just once, worn one of _her_ damned flower crowns."

That pulled a teary chuckle from Libra, as he wiped his face with his sleeve, "I wanted to have joined them with hands clasped in prayer... but I was still too afraid. I... regret it."

"I know," and, unable to find any other words, Lon'qu gently reached out, pausing just a few inches from Libra's face.

He was startled when Libra's hand shot up, gripping his wrist like a vise, as if he were afraid Lon'qu would slip away entirely. Fear flickered in his eyes, but it was not the fear of touching or being touched. It was the fear of _losing_ , and it far outweighed any of the other fears swirling in Libra's gut.

"Our tent, please," he begged, eyes painfully beseeching. "After dinner."

Lon'qu turned his head quizzically, pursed his lips. And then, he nodded.

When the hour at last came, Lon'qu made his way to the tent they'd been sharing, right on the outskirts of camp. Candles illuminated all four walls, obscuring the motion within through the lack of shadow, but Lon'qu entered anyways. Where there was Libra, after all, there was always light.

As he suspected, Libra was already there, stripped down to only a too-long undertunic. There was a flash of bare buttock and Lon'qu realized, with a deep flush, that Libra wasn't even wearing his smallclothes. He carefully laced up the tentflap behind him, subtly watching the places where Libra's thighs exposed themselves as he laid out the bedrolls, pressed side-by-side like one large futon, and then laid the sheets over them-- just the sheets, and not the thick covers. A half-emptied vulnerary sat on the crate that served as a makeshift nightstand, and the faint, oily glisten that trailed down the inside of Libra's leg could not simply be the result of mere imagination.

Even Lon'qu couldn't miss the implications. And thought he wanted (oh gods how he wanted), all he managed to do was blush and mutter, "I don't want you to regret anything."

Libra chucked faintly, his hair splaying over a low neckline that exposed his collarbone, "I should think that not-regretting is the point of it."

"I mean it," Lon'qu frowned, trying not to think about how much he wanted to kiss the hollow of Libra's throat, or of just what he would lose if that throat were to be slit tomorrow.

"So do I," Libra breathed, barely hesitating at all as he reached to undo Lon'qu's belt, his robe-ties. He paused halfway down the chest, "I would never regret this, as long as it's with  _you_. But if you aren't ready--"

"No," Lon'qu worked Libra's fingers with his own, guiding him to undo the knots. "I'm very ready."

Libra's hands made quick work of the neat, simply tied knots, often lingering unnecessarily on the skin they exposed. Though Lon'qu shed his own clothing layer by layer, Libra seemed to have no intent of removing the tunic he wore, but that was fine. Understandable, even. He'd caught glimpses of Libra's marred neck and back, usually in the bathing tents, and Libra was self-conscious of the scars even then, doing his best to conceal them behind a towel or silkscreen. He hated it when they were touched, and Lon'qu wondered if the shirt's purpose wasn't to remind him to be extra-considerate of avoiding those particular spots.

Lon'qu untangled one of his hands from the mess at his belt, his heart aching as he tilted Libra's lips in the direction of his. It was infuriatingly unfair that scars which healed physically long ago still hurt the man who bore them, and Lon'qu couldn't just stab someone and make everything better. But that night, Libra kissed like he was drowning and Lon'qu was air, only pausing to sigh as Lon'qu set his hands over his hips and pulled him in just a little closer.

"Yes," he breathed, and Lon'qu took that as permission to press himself firmly against Libra's front, his filling erection against the curve of Libra's hip, one hand wandering lower to trail over the side of a firm, naked thigh. Libra shuddered at the sensation of bare skin on bare skin, half anticipation and half anxiety, before the pleasure of being _this close_ to his lover won out, and he increased the warm pressure of their hips together.

"Libra," Lon'qu groaned, his blush darkening so deeply that the flush spread down his neck and chest. Or maybe that was the blood flowing in the direction of his crotch; Lon'qu was no doctor, he couldn't tell. He kissed the man beside him more desperately, the hand beneath Libra's knee guiding him to lay down against the sheets. Far easier to rut against your lover's hips on a flat surface.

"Mmm," Libra answered, rolling his hips against Lon'qu's answering pressure. He threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of Lon'qu's neck, and just before he pulled him down for a kiss, "Wonderful..."

"What is?" Lon'qu answered, his voice shaking as Libra dove at his throat, kissing down the line between his jaw and sternum.

"You," and Libra's next kiss was a smile.

"How," Lon'qu ventured, as low and quiet as a secret-- as if he were embarrassed to say it out loud, even though he had Libra's cock pressed against the side of his own. "How did you want to do this?"

"I read once," Libra admitted, still recalling how he'd nearly buried the instructional manual in purchases of paints and sketchbooks in order to obscure it. "That it's least painful from behind."

"... _is_ it painful?" answered Lon'qu, the hint of something apologetic creeping into his eyes.

"I wouldn't know," confessed Libra, at last pulling back minutely. He chuckled, "I suppose I'll find out soon enough."

"..." Lon'qu pursed his lips. "You'll tell me if it hurts?"

"Of course," answered Libra, soft and tender as he rolled onto his front and pushed himself up on hands and knees. "You'll, um, want to slicken yourself."

"Right," Lon'qu nodded awkwardly, scooping up a dollop of thick liniment from the container. He bit his lip as he spread it over himself, luxuriating in the feeling of actually having lubricant, thickly pleasant.

Carefully, delicately, he lifted the skirt of Libra's tunic, exposing his gloriously firm, round arse, the flushed entrance beneath, the place where his balls hung heavily in between his legs. Libra shifted his thighs apart, but they revealed no more; the front of his tunic seemed to almost curl around the shaft of his cock.

"Is this okay?" Libra turned his head as far back as he could, trying to glean an emotion from Lon'qu's face.

"Yeah. You're..." Lon'qu's eyes scanned the image again, committing it to memory as he tried to figure out what word to use. "Wonderful."

Libra laughed, a sound so beautiful that Lon'qu wanted him even more, whatever little sense that made. The fingers that still held the remnants of oily vulnerary carefully stroked over Libra's entrance as Lon'qu carefully scrutinized its size, wondering how something so small could possibly take an entire dick. Libra made a quiet, surprised noise as Lon'qu pushed a finger into the place where he'd prepared himself not twenty minutes ago, and then another, twtiching inside and stretching him just a bit more. His other hand held Libra's buttock to the side, and spread before his lover, feeling dexterous fingers twitch and scissor against his walls, Libra felt a throb of arousal shiver up his spine and culminate in a moan.

"P-please, just," Libra shuddered, arching his spine into the touch. "Please."

"Y-yeah," Lon'qu trembled, pulling his fingers away with a reluctant slowness, completely hypnotized by the way Libra had stretched around the intrusion. He shifted his body, lined up his cock, and began pressing in, slow and careful and sure. His ears filled with the sound of Libra's deep, labored breathing mingled admidst the sound of his own rapid pulse. "Okay?"

Libra sucked in another breath through his teeth, "I'm fine. Just-- just push the head in the rest of the way, it's too wide..."

Lon'qu grunted his assent, Libra's arse giving way as he quickly popped the widest edge of his cock past the rim, only just barely stopping himself from thrusting even further. The soft, pained cry Libra let out felt like an arrow puncturing Lon'qu's chest, and he held, unwilling to proceed if anything he did would cause Libra any real injury.

"'M fine," Libra swallowed his next breath of air, pushing his hips back insistently. "Please..."

"You sure?" Lon'qu bit his lip, trying to will himself to avoid thinking of just how meltingly hot Libra's channel felt around the fraction of his cock it had already taken.

"Yes," Libra exhaled, clutching at the sheets. With a shaky laugh, "Hurts less than an arrow wound. I'm all right."

Lon'qu wished he could kiss Libra in that moment, if only for something to assure himself that his lover was still enjoying it. Instead, he gently raised a hand to stroke over Libra's clothed side in a soothing movement, even as he slowly sank into his lover's body the rest of the way.

"Libra," Lon'qu sighed, rocking his hips slowly, trying to feel for Libra's erection if only to ensure that he was still hard. He brushed his palm over the cloth-concealed shaft, relieved to find that it had not gone _completely_ soft, and began reviving it with delicate, well-placed strokes.

"That's perfect," Libra answered the unspoken question, hips riding in subtle grinds between Lon'qu's thighs on his arse and Lon'qu's hand around his cock. He groaned out loud as Lon'qu bucked into him twice as firmly, "Oh gods... Lon'qu..."

"Sorry," Lon'qu apologized, concentrating hard to restrain himself.

"No, please, _again_ ," Libra corrected, pressing himself into Lon'qu's lap until his short thrusts grew harder, and he began fucking the priest in earnest.

Too soon, Libra could feel his thighs tense, his balls tighten. Lon'qu's hands came down to his hips as the swordsman rutted him forcefully, once, twice. Libra came as Lon'qu twitched just hard enough for him to feel the violent flutter of his lover's orgasm, tightening around Lon'qu's cock in a way that had him gasping out loud.

It was a moment before their minds cleared enough that Lon'qu began pulling out, Libra's asshole looking too-stretched and empty without the cock actually _there_ inside it. With a soft groaning noise, Libra fell against the bedroll, curling in on himself as he tried to recover. Lon'qu's eyes darted around the tent again, finding a basin of water lying off to the side as if Libra had anticipated they would need it.

He offered the towel to Libra first, "Wash?"

Libra made a muffled noise into the fabric, and held out his hand, "Thank you."

Lon'qu tried not to watch, he really did, but Libra made sleepy eye contact with him as he stuck the towel under his tunic and wiped himself off, first in the front and then in the back, smiling all the while. It was nearly magnetic in its intimacy.

When Libra had finished, he seemed far too tired to do more than hold the dirtied towel out to Lon'qu again, but Lon'qu only took it back, rinsed it in the basin again, and wiped himself off before grabbing the rest of the blankets and curling up on his own side of the bedroll.

As if it had only just occurred to Lon'qu, "You'll be sore tomorrow?"

"That's what the rest of the vulnerary's for," Libra yawned, eyes smiling.

"I--" Lon'qu started, as if there were something he needed to say before tomorrow came. But then he thought better of it, as Libra's lips murmured out a quiet prayer as he drifted off to sleep. There was nothing he could say that hadn't already been said tenfold through action.

And so he reached out to caress Libra's cheek, and though he was far from a believer, murmured the last three words of prayer along with him, "In Naga's name."

And for once, the night before confrontation, they both slept soundly.

 


	4. He's accustomed to being on his knees for praying, but not praying //like this.//

There had been a change in plans when they'd arrived at Plegia Castle. Chrom, of course, and Robin, and the handful of others that made up his personal guard would be permitted entrance. But then, Robin had spotted sorcerers, hiding in the corners of the battlements as they approached, and immediately altered their strategy.

"Sumia, Cherche," they decided. "I need you to coordinate the Shepherds with flying mounts to deliver our healers to those stairs up there when the Plegians make their attack. That's an ambush if I've ever seen one. Maribelle, Libra-- make sure everyone who can use a Physic staff has one. Your goal is to get up there, take out the sorcerers before they can swamp us with attacks, and heal those of us within who are worst injured. Tharja, Henry, Gregor, and Gaius-- congratulations, you're getting promoted to Chromguard. Come with me."

And sure enough, the Plegians had led their ambush, and Libra had slain exactly three sorcerers by the time he settled at his Robin-ordained position near the exit, allowing far squishier healers to take their places in the wake of his destruction. The bloodshed that followed was utterly mad; dozens of people crammed into the tiny, winding hallways of Plegia Castle with all of its chokeholds and rooms and gates. Libra healed furiously, but there were still plenty of sorcerers on the battlement opposite the one the Ylisseans had claimed, and it was getting harder and harder to see where their allies even _were_.

At the end, the Plegians overwhelmed them with their superior numbers-- of course they had; the entire Plegian military was practically camped out in the bowels of its castle. Almost everybody was dragging along an injured friend, but to Libra's alarm, Lon'qu was nowhere to be seen.

"Come on," Cherche hollered at him, patting Minerva's side. "That's Robin's retreat signal!"

Libra had, indeed, seen the flare of thunder that signified a retreat. "But I--"

A faint explosion shook the battlement he stood on, then, and he almost stumbled down the stairs. Cherche pinned him with a desperate glance, and Libra knew the penalty for ignoring the signal would be death.

He took his out just as Plegia Castle swarmed with its soldiers, chasing every Ylissean from its premises. They were lucky to escape alive, Libra thought, trying to avoid wondering if his lover was among those fortunate.

It did not prevent his chest from aching when a mage sent a last plume of fire from the entrance, ensuring that none would dare think of returning.

The army in full had moved their camp eastward, just over the border to Themis, as the Shepherds dealt with what was supposed to be a "diplomatic mission," and Libra was immediately set to work on healing the injured, sprawled across the dozens of cots in the medical tent. Some were fixed easily enough, with the careful application of a concoction over stitches. Most of them were gruesome enough to require several layers of poultices, even after the initial flesh regeneration from the healing staves.

Lissa was working where she stood, sweating from the exertion of lifting her stave with only one functional arm, the other badly fractured and wrapped in one of Maribelle's fussy, overprotective slings. Libra himself had been little injured, a cut across his thigh from a stray arrow and a throbbing headache that was the remnant of being hit by dark magic, but there were very many far worse off than he. Henry was laughing, and coughing up blood from an internal bleeding hex, and it took Libra more than a couple minutes to find its source and unravel it healed.

Maribelle herself, practically the matron of the healing tent, slipped in after they'd been there for an hour or so, looking so exhausted that she hadn't even bothered to try and hide it. Her arms filled with bloodied towels and dull, completely used staves, she carefully approached where Libra stood at the washing-well.

"Libra, darling," she said after a moment, using that awful Doctor's Voice she had, too soft and gentle with sympathy to really be _Maribelle_. His heart sank into his gut as she continued, "I did all I could for him, but... gods, the blood. And I just thought... well, if there's anyone who deserves a chance to fix this, it's you, Libra."

Libra's mouth was almost too dry to speak, much less swallow her news, but he managed to choke out, "Where is he?"

"In your tent, the west-most outskirt of camp," Maribelle sighed, rather more herself as she dropped the towels and took up a fresh stave. More deftly, and speaking to Libra as one medic to another, "The trip did him no favors, and I didn't want to move him too much. It's lucky Frederick was the one who brought him in... the man at least has enough brains to put an elixir or two over a wound."

"I--" Libra faltered, looking back at the field hospital, still gripping his Mend staff.

"You have permission to leave," Maribelle shook her head, gathering another set of clean towels, canvas bandages and fresh staves for Libra. "Sumia will get here soon enough, and those who still yet remain unhealed are the ones with the least serious injuries."

"Thank you," he breathed, taking the armload from her and hurrying away furiously.

As Maribelle had promised, there was the distinctive patchwork of their shared tent on the darkened outskirts of camp, nearest to the water of a stream, its own fire built outside. Libra immediately set a pan of water to boil, lest he need it for cleaning, and stepped into the tent.

He had braced himself for a great deal of horrible scenarios-- axe wounds, bite wounds, hexes. But his breath caught in his throat at what he saw, the air knocked from him as a blunt force shattered his heart.

"No," Libra breathed, watching the puddle of blood slowly start to grow from underneath his Lon'qu's body, a body that he had made love with only the night prior.

 _Gods, the blood,_ Maribelle had said-- there wasn't even this much blood in the human body, thought Libra, but waved the first of his three staves anyway, trying to regenerate flesh where it had been torn open. He was relieved when the cuts sealed beneath the tidy black stitches that were obviously Maribelle's work, only to feel his gut wrench once more when the seams opened up again, dripping helplessly onto the soaked bedroll. Libra fell to his knees, swallowed the bile that threatened to come up, and took the boiled water in to clean blood away from one of the wounds. He needed to see just what, exactly, he was dealing with.

For all intentions, it seemed like an ordinary enough wound-- a puncture, and then drag, along each of the major arteries. Assassins favored these types of cuts in their line of work, though Lon'qu seemed to have sustained an... _unnatural_  number of them. Libra tried desperately to avoid thinking about how he'd kissed down this very same line last night, and gently applied a coating of the standard elixir to force the blood to coagulate, to stop spattering Libra's lap with the very fluid that kept the man he loved alive.

Discomfort crossed Lon'qu's very pallid face, and the elixir outright _melted_ back into Libra's palm, completely useless. That was when he knew it had to be dark magic, and the Ward stave he'd cast over Lon'qu earlier hadn't been enough. Nothing would have been enough, he realized with horror, as he watched the garish red lines of an "A" bleed from Lon'qu's chest.

This spell had no simple fix that a healer only had to _find_ , not like the one that had plagued Henry. This spell was Aversa's doing, and she was an accomplished hexmistress in her own right, even without Validar's guidance. She was no dark mage fresh out of the military academy, not like Tharja who still experimented with only the threads of plagues and mind control-- she was an innovator of the blackest blood magic, and this was her Night.

"Oh, gods," Libra prayed, trying to breathe before he looked at the bottles on their nightstand, where Maribelle usually kept track of what had been given to whom. It wouldn't do to give him something that might interfere with something he'd already had.

There was an empty bottle of elixir, the one that Frederick had given him on the way over. The concoction he'd carried into battle, also empty. An entirely different empty bottle, a tiny one that could be easily mistaken for perfume, and Libra choked down a sob as he silently thanked Maribelle, the rare and expensive blood-regeneration potion far, far out of his own means, and notoriously difficult to brew by hand besides. More than likely, it was the only thing keeping Lon'qu anywhere near _alive_ at this point, as it regenerated blood and oxygen nearly as quickly as the hex bled him out.

Off to the side, there sat the drawn-shut bladder that held the vulnerary they'd used last night, the dredges still remaining from when Libra had been too disgusted by the texture to swallow the entire dose that morning. He laughed and wept desperately, and realized that there would still yet be far, far more regrets about _should have done_ if Lon'qu died now.

He stood the Mend stave before him, still on his knees, channeling his magical energy into each warm mending, praying to Naga desperately, _let this one hold_.

"Our Lady in the realm of spirits, hallowed be thy name. Let those who walk for you never walk in vain," he sobbed, tossing away the stave when its glowing light became darkened and useless. Taking up anew, "Let Your Voice carry Your Heart to those of the Earth, and carry from pain, whether it be to the mortal arms of they we love or to Your arms in death, blessed be those who speak--"

The second stave outright shattered, and Libra snapped it in his fist, tossing the halves away as he picked the chunks of broken crystal from the puddle of Lon'qu's blood. _Lon'qu's blood_ , gods. The regenerative potion could only do so much-- for all its priciness and technicality, it would wear off in but a few hours. Libra had no idea how long it had been since Lon'qu had taken it.

Disheartened, unable to continue Alm's Prayer, Libra picked up his third and final stave, and prayed from his heart as he poured every emotion swirling within him into the last chance he had of saving the man with whom he had shared _his life_  with.

"Lady Naga, if you can hear me, if I have ever been in Your heart at all," Libra wept, clasping his hands over the stave, his knees aching from near on an hour of running Mend staves dry, "If I have ever pleased You with my faith... please, just this once, give me the strength I need to save him. Oh, Naga, _please_."

The stave glowed, and to Libra's eyes it seemed brighter than it had been before. Lon'qu's wounds began kitting themselves back together along the lines of stitches, and Libra dared to hope.

But the light, too, sputtered and died out, and Lon'qu's wounds fell open again, seeming more gaunt than ever in the dimness of the tent. And something died in Libra's heart, then, and he smashed the emptied stave on the ground in a fit of pure rage.

"Why?" he cried out, trying to let the entire pantheon of gods feel the sickness of this loss within him. "If you gods must punish me, then why did you have to do this to _him_? Let me take his wounds, and he my health, if your quarrel is with me. It would have... _anything_ would have been better!"

But the blood dripping from Lon'qu's wounds only ran thinner, and told Libra that the potion was wearing off. All the priest could think about was how he should have held him tighter, shouldn't have been so afraid to be close to him.

And so he turned to the only thing he _could_ do. The only thing that had never failed him, though he had sworn to never touch upon it again.

Libra stretched a towel out over the only section of clean floor and painted, dipping his fingers in the tackiness of Lon'qu's blood, trying to keep his stomach from turning. He painted circles for binding, triangles for endearments, runes for meaning. He painted the pentagrams of vengeance, the hearts of his own affection, a promise writ in fury and desperation and the most painful love he'd ever known.

He painted for the commission of Lon'qu's life.

The Split-Goddess had never yet turned down one of his artworks, Libra thought darkly, falling into the forms of black magic he hadn't used since he was a teenager in the bowels of Ylisstol's backstreets. Aversa thought she could play with the lifeblood of his lover, _did she_? She was _nothing_ , only a girl playing with forces she barely understood, Libra sneered. Perhaps, then, it would be adequate for her to suffer seven times the agony through which she had put Lon'qu, spirits of the darkness tearing at her flesh without end for a week straight, undying even though impossible agonies.

Libra released a low, hollow laugh, and painted on the seven lines with the remnants of last night's vulnerary. The Split-Goddess would appreciate the irony, he thought, ripping his pocket-knife across his hand and smearing it over the corner of the hex circle in a flamboyant signature before the spell made reality its showcase.

Because while the woman who had wounded Lon'qu was an innovator of dark magic, Libra was something far, far deadlier:

An artist.

The towel began to smoke as it burned up, leaving the scent of brimstone in the air when the Split-Goddess took Libra's offering, cast it for him. It had been a mad masterpiece in the writs of blood magic, so black in its hatred and red in its love that man couldn't-- _shouldn't_ \-- cast it again, the type of spell most sorcerers only dreamed of one day writing. It had been, from magitechnical and artistic perspectives both, utterly awe-inspiring.

But the sight of Lon'qu's flesh stitching itself together, holding, and color returning to his pallid face was the most beautiful sight in the world to Libra, far more wondrous than any painting, no matter how powerful or lovely it may be. He would have painted a thousand masterpieces in blood just to see the life coming back into Lon'qu's dying body.

Libra crawled on his hands and aching knees to their blood-soaked bedroll, gently wiping away the drying flakes from his face. Like this, Lon'qu could almost be sleeping. He pressed a tender kiss to his lover's forehead and laid down beside him, pulling useless stitches loose from Lon'qu's skin like botched embroidery, marveling at how the flesh underneath healed itself even as Libra unwound the string, done so flawlessly that not even scars were left in the wake of his injury.

Libra wept with relief, not caring that his own hand had healed more smoothly than it had been before, not caring that he was lying in a puddle of drying blood. He lay his head on Lon'qu's chest, felt the rhythm of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his breath, and let that rhythm lull him into slumber.

For the first time in a long time, he did not pray before he fell asleep.

 


	5. No regrets, thinks Libra, never regret.

When Lon'qu woke up, he was surprised.

Not by anything or anyone in particular, still too hazy to really register the world around him (maybe it was morning? it was kinda light enough to be morning). Rather more by the fact he'd woken up at all. He had a vague, headachy memory of indelicately smashing the lock to the foyer of Plegia Castle after Gaius had erroneously chosen to open the Wrong Lock, and a triggered trap that involved the echoes of evil laughter and a lot of knives. Gods, were there a lot of knives.

Speaking realistically, he should have died overnight. Maybe he _had_ died overnight, and being dead was just really similar to being alive.

As he slowly drifted back into consciousness, Lon'qu realized that, _fucking ow_ , he was definitely still alive, his whole body aching like a giant bruise the way it did right after someone Healed or Mended a wound. There was also something massive and heavy and warm splayed over him, which was great because he was mostly naked and also cold, and he felt strangely crusty, like after washing in the ocean but a million times worse.

He groaned out loud, the air meeting his lips forcing him to realize that his mouth was painfully dry, and the warm thing on top of him shifted, then went away. Lon'qu's very flesh shuddered from the cool air on his bare skin, before the heat was back and lips were pressed to his, coaxing him to take the water held in the canteen of another's mouth. Lon'qu took, tasted.

"Libra," his eyes creaked open, and though the light leaking through the tent worsened his headache, he needed to see his lover more than anything else.

By all definitions, Libra looked dreadful that morning. Red. His fingers coated in the maroon chips of dried blood, his priest's robe almost completely dyed a horrible, ruddy brown, flakes sticking to his hair, his cheeks. His eyes rimmed red with the salt of tears, dark bags sitting beneath them. It hurt to look at him, to see the obvious evidence of a night of agony.

"Lon'qu," he smiled, tears budding and glimmering at the corners of his eyes. "Oh, Lon'qu..."

Libra had wept, then, throwing himself into kissing Lon'qu's face, fingers tracing the lines where injuries had plagued him the night before. Lon'qu noticed absent-mindedly that there weren't even any scars, tilting Libra's jaw to kiss him back, and tried not to think about the way Libra pressed his thumbs over the pulse points in Lon'qu's neck, feeling for them as if he were afraid they would vanish.

Much, much later-- after Lon'qu's check-up with a stunned Maribelle, after he washed away the disturbing amounts of his own blood, even after he exchanged his broken swords and used concoctions to the convoy-- the swordsman noticed something... odd. Off.

Maribelle seemed to be evaluating not Lon'qu's "miraculous, completely _perfect_ " recovery, but the way flakes of blood clung to Libra's unwashed hands. Tharja had, strangely enough, acknowledged their presence with a cautious, almost respectful nod as they passed her on the way towards the bathing tent. Henry had looked ready to piss himself with sheer excitement as he vibrated in the corner of the convoy, standing just within a dozen feet of them but no closer. Donnel had almost dropped his lunch at the sight of them before scurrying away like a frightened animal. Even Robin seemed unsettled, their nerves on edge, eyes carefully darting between the pair and some diagrams they had drawn on a roster page. 

Libra had held his hand every time they walked beside each other. Not odd, within itself-- common, in fact, among married couples and paramours. But for Libra, who had once described touching another person rather like a thousand anxious needles prickling his skin, it was practically clingy.

"You're holding my hand," Lon'qu stated curiously, marveling at the way their fingers entwined.

"My apologies," Libra answered, though he made no move to separate them. "I should have asked first."

"It's fine," Lon'qu flushed, pulling at his collar with the hand that was free. "I just... it's new."

Libra hesitated, pursing his lips. Then, his reply, "I suppose it is."

"Does it--" Lon'qu started, then decided there would simply be no other way to ask than to-the-point. "Last night. What happened?"

Libra paused again and drew his fingers tighter, leaning in to whisper like a confession, "I... I hate to think of it. There was blood, just... so much blood. And yours. I think the only reason you were still alive when I saw you was because you'd had a blood-regeneration potion. It was a hex. A terrible one that bled you almost faster than anyone could heal. I couldn't... I couldn't stop it. "

"So, then," Lon'qu frowned, the context not adding up. "I should be dead. I'm not."

"Don't say that!" Libra exclaimed, a sudden, terrifying blackness coming over his eyes. "You should _never_ be dead."

Lon'qu started, taken aback by the aggression, frowning and narrowing his eyes in return, "I'm _not_."

"I... sorry," Libra sighed, shoulders falling, rather more like his usual self. "I'm just... mad at myself. The things I did last night, to barter with the gods... they were terrible things. Things that I haven't done in a long time. That I'd sworn I'd never do again."

"..." Lon'qu's fingers tenderly tightened around Libra's once more. "Do you regret it?"

Libra looked at him quizzically, incapable of understanding why Lon'qu didn't ask about the nature of these things. But then, the corner of his eyes crinkled and he laughed softly, if a bit hysterically, "I could never regret _anything_ , as long as it's you. Let the gods weigh that how they will."

Lon'qu's hand rose to wipe away his tears and, _oh_ , Libra realized, _I'm crying_. The swordsman kissed him, then, lips tainted by the faint bitter-saltiness of tears, but it was wonderful to Libra, wonderful that someone was still capable of loving him in spite of knowing that he was far, far from a saint. Someone who didn't care what he'd done, because knowing would not change his feelings, and Libra knew because he felt the same.

They kissed deeply, and at length, and at the thought of _I almost lost my chance to ever do this_ , Libra pressed his full body against Lon'qu's and held him, hands wandering down arms and over chests and even slipping past his shirt to place his completely bare hand over the completely bare skin above Lon'qu's heart.

"You're... forward," Lon'qu chose the word cautiously.

"I changed my mind," Libra pressed his face to Lon'qu's shoulder, tugging away his clothes (which, really, were only a little harder to remove than the yukata). "There are many, many things I would regret never doing, if you... passed on. So many things that I'm afraid it would take a lifetime to get through them all."

"I would be... amenable to that," the corner of Lon'qu's mouth turned upward, and with that thought in mind, he deftly untied the cowl over Libra's shoulders, pulling it free and dropping it in the flowered field. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Don't stop," Libra nearly growled, tossing the pin that held together Lon'qu's robe into the same pile. He pulled Lon'qu's hand towards his own back, let him slide it beneath both tunic and undershirt and feel the raised crisscross of scars from too many run-ins with the military reign of the previous king of Ylisse. Lon'qu's fingers felt like they were making love to each shred of Libra's past as they traced each line with a reverence most reserved only for the purest of temples. Libra kissed across Lon'qu's collarbone in grateful blessings.

Lon'qu's other hand joined the first, exploring through touch a canvas of Libra's skin that he had, as of yet, barely seen. The habit and its long-sleeved undershirt went up, pushed over Libra's shoulders, and the priest gracefully lifted his arms so that Lon'qu could help him remove it, both layers at once. They landed somewhere when Lon'qu tossed them, transfixed by the broadness of shoulder that they hid, the defined pectorals, the abdomen that came from wielding an axe. 

He peered down Libra's back, gently brushing his hair away from the back of his neck, where the most painful of his healed wounds lay, "Can I?"

"Yes," Libra sighed, almost moaning as Lon'qu's thumb pressed against the spot. When it was Lon'qu's hands that embraced him, he thought, it was impossible to feel anything less than completion. 

It was almost too easy to hand over this part of himself, the scars and the wounds they left on his heart. But Libra had already broken the Edicts of Naga for this man, had already returned to the darkest, most evil form of magic for him, had already made a perverse magical marking across his soul, Libra's signature in blood. To withhold from him a handful of markings on an earthly body because they reminded him of times he'd cast sacrificial magic to escape from... it seemed petty, in retrospect.

Petty, and ridiculous, and selfish, he thought as Lon'qu fairly moaned, his fingers digging into Libra's shoulders and kneading his tense muscles, trailing down his sides, unbuckling his pants and letting them hit the ground.

"You look..." Lon'qu swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth. "Wonderful."

"Mmm?" Libra hummed dimly, still rather weak-kneed from his first shoulder massage _ever_. He hadn't even realized that this was one of the many things he would have regretted not-doing until it had happened. He hoped that this intimacy would not be the last of its kind.

"I've never seen your," and here Lon'qu jerked his head in the direction of Libra's cock, too embarrassed to say the word. "Before."

"And so now you have," Libra answered softly. He'd hid his penis, too, but _that_ had been a completely superficial injury, and it hardly made sense to keep modesty in an area that was far further from his heart than the injuries on his neck and back. "I hope you're not terribly disappointed."

"... does it hurt?" Lon'qu asked, trailing a finger from the base to the ring of darkened scar near the middle of the shaft, and up again to the loops formed near the head from healed-over tags of skin. Libra had seen the look of a starving man many times before, but never had that desire been directed at his cock. It was... arousing.

"Not anymore, unless I snag the skin," he replied, shaking his head. With a rather wry smile, "Getting it cut was a prerequisite for joining the clergy. It was a long time ago... I don't feel much of anything now."

Lon'qu mulled over the words and nodded, then kissed him again, "Tell me if it hurts."

"I will," Libra replied, his answer turning into a groan as Lon'qu placed a thick pressure on him, just as he liked, clenching and shifting his fingers loosely as his cupped, heavy palm did most of the work. It was pleasant, yes, and if he thought about it hard enough he perhaps come like this. But it was nothing like the sheer _sensation_ of stretching himself on Lon'qu's cock, being able to feel every twitch of movement, whether it was painful or enjoyable or awkward (because Lon'qu, for all his physical grace, was so, so adorably awkward at times).

Before he knew it, Libra was tugging Lon'qu's hands away from his body, pulling against them as he brought both of them to the ground, rolling against the brush of thick, nap-worthy grass. The blades scratched at his knees as he crawled over Lon'qu's lap, pinning him down by the shoulder as a slow smile spread across his face.

Lon'qu's hands found their familiar grasps over where Libra's waist met his hip, thumbs trailing over the subtle musculature of his abdomen. Part of him desperately envied the strength of Libra's body. The other, more vocal part desperately _desired_ it, "Gods... Libra..."

The priest outright smirked, rolling his hips even as he frotted against Lon'qu's hips, and Lon'qu was having a difficult time looking away from where Libra's muscles rolled. He hovered powerfully over Lon'qu's form, knees parted to either side of his hips, hands pinning his shoulders to the ground, "Let me-- let me try something."

"Yes. Please," a tremor of arousal slid down Lon'qu's spine. All of Libra's "something"s had been more than pleasurable thus far.

Rather fortunately, since it had been the last object removed, Libra's pants had not been misplaced like the rest of their clothing, and so he reached into the pocket where he kept the vulnerary he'd been assigned yesterday, missing only one of the three doses. He pushed his weight, though reluctantly, off of Lon'qu's hips and onto his knees, deftly coating his fingers with the jelly-thick oil before breathing and pressing a finger into himself.

Lon'qu watched, the air catching in his lungs. He very intimately remembered the last time fingers had gone anywhere near Libra's arse, how luxuriant the walls had felt under his fingers and how the channel gripped his cock as they finished, and then his face flushed because Libra looked even more gorgeous than normal, kneeling as he readied himself with the fingers of one hand and held his buttocks apart with the other. His cheeks tinged pink, kissed-red lips beginning to chap in the dry air, his gorgeous cock hard and bobbing slightly.

The swordsman's hand came up, pressing his palm against that thickness, gently rubbing it with his calluses, and Libra sighed, "You look wonderful like that."

Lon'qu's lips twitched upwards, even as he writhed in a desperate (failed) attempt to restrain himself, "Could say the same for you."

Libra chuckled and roughly tugged a layer of lubricant over Lon'qu's cock, "I think I like having you like this."

"Like what?" Lon'qu sucked in a breath through his teeth as Libra's fingers brushed thickly over the cockhead.

"Under me," grunted Libra as he began to push his hips down, too eager to wait until Lon'qu's dick was properly aligned. He groaned as he finally managed to get it to press against his entrance, " _In_ me."

"Oh, _gods_ ," Lon'qu moaned, squeezing just a smidge tighter as Libra popped the ridge of Lon'qu's glans into his hole with barely a bitten lip. He shuddered and his hips twitched, barely restrained from a full-out thrust that would have plunged him in to almost the hilt, trying to wait for Libra to continue ( _oh gods, oh gods_ ) sliding down his cock, painfully, deliciously slow.

There was something, thought Lon'qu, about a powerful man above you taking his pleasure from your cock as he rode it and pinned your shoulders to the ground so you couldn't lean up, couldn't do anything but only try to touch as he splayed his body with explicit artistry. The flex of his pectorals, his abdomen, his firm thighs, the way his balls bounced obscenely with every rolling motion. Lon'qu's hips met each of Libra's thrusts with a firm buck, the stop abrupt against his rear, and soon Lon'qu was gasping, groaning, releasing inside his lover with a muffled noise of surprise.

"Oh!" Libra took in a harsh breath, jolting as the twitch of Lon'qu's completion brush against something even better than before, more intense. He chased it with sloppy bounces on Lon'qu's lap, desperately trying to finish before his lover went flaccid, and when he found that something again, it was enough for him to spill over Lon'qu's deft fingers as they stroked him ever-so-pleasantly.

Libra panted, letting all of his weight fall to his knees as he came back down from an exquisite orgasm. Lon'qu's own post-coital haze was just beginning to defog as he carefully unhitched his too-sensitive cock from Libra's channel, wiping his dirtied hand against the grass to clean it.

"Was it okay?" Libra asked in a whisper, tumbling off to lay beside him.

"Better than okay," Lon'qu assured him, weaving their fingers together as they held hands.

And for once, touching felt completely natural for Libra. 

They snuck back into camp late that night, only three boots, a pair if pants, and Lon'qu's sash worn between them. But still, they laughed, almost too quiet to hear as Libra retrieved the long-ago discarded tent from the convoy. They would burn the other, the one they had first made love in, the one that was now irreparably stained with Lon'qu's blood, when morning came.

(And if Libra saved a handful of the ashes, stored in the pouch of an old, used-up vulnerary, Lon'qu carefully didn't watch, and so nobody saw him do it.)


	6. And, though Libra may have been the one who'd learned to touch, Lon'qu had been the one who learned to //speak.//

 

Even almost-tragedies served a purpose, Robin had said, and that was why they were only  _almost_ tragedies.

It was strange for Lon'qu to wear the garb of an assassin. It had been near a fortnight before he'd been able to put on his clothes without accidentally nicking himself on his bladed gloves, and still longer before he became accustomed to using a bow. But, having had the unique experience of learning each vein of near-instant death firsthand, he was suited enough for the job. He would adjust, as he always had.

But he was well aware that it was more difficult for Libra, who had to get used to to the diaphanous silks and flowing capes of a sorcerer. Though weighty flaps of brocade guarded his legs, there were still slits up the side to allow for movement, and only pants of gauze underneath them. And still was it more difficult to forget holding an axe in one hand and a stave in the other, and remember what it was like to leach the blood of your enemies with a well-placed Nosferatu or Waste them completely.

In a war where being anything less than your absolute best could lead to everyone around you dying, Robin had postulated that Libra make use of what was very obviously an inborn talent for Dark Magic. Lon'qu wished they hadn't put it that way-- when they framed the consequences like that, how could Libra had said no? Some nights, Libra would sit up in their tent with a jar of suspiciously-red ink and painstakingly scribe out the pages to his own tomes, terrible ones that would plant parasites on enemies, slowly draining them of life no mater how far they ran from the caster, or complicated tracking hexes for finding obscured foes, each taking seven circles apiece to draw out.

And Libra slept worse. Lon'qu knew, because he'd never slept well himself, and when it was Libra writhing on their cot and mumbling terrified nonsense, it was impossible to not notice. It hurt too much to watch, though, and Lon'qu often shook him awake, his hand jostling a firm shoulder and a grunt of, "Libra. _Libra._ "

Libra gasped, clutching his hand to his chest as he fell sharply into the world of the waking, "I'm--"

"In our tent," Lon'qu informed him, squeezing his shoulder to ground him. "Two days' march from the Dragon's Table."

"... right," Libra exhaled, practically sagging against the quilts. "I... I'm sorry. I must have woken you. Perhaps I should move out--"

"No," Lon'qu answered. He wouldn't pretend to know what Libra dreamed of, what the nightmares were about, but after Libra had been here to offer his comfort when Lon'qu had his own nightmares, to let him move himself out would be cruel. "I wasn't asleep. Couldn't sleep. Stay."

"I... all right," Libra buried his face in the pillow. He was quiet for a while, and Lon'qu thought he'd fallen back asleep until he sighed, "It's worse here than it was where we camped yesterday."

"What is?" Lon'qu's eyes shifted to him.

"The concentration of darkness," Libra replied with a discomfited shudder. "And the urge to take all of it, and make its power mine. That's how it gets into your mind, controls you. Stronger men than I have fallen prey to its wiles. I... I might've been better suited to resist, had I just stopped at the one blood spell, but for near a fortnight I've been... well, you know."

" _Gods,_ " Lon'qu clenched his jaw, sitting up and preparing to get out of bed. "We have to stop--"

Libra gripped Lon'qu's wrist, then, "Don't go; it's nothing. Surely both Tharja and Henry are suffering a dozen times worse-- at least _I_ hadn't used it for some years... in between."

"So... it builds up," Lon'qu did not relax completely, but calmed down enough to at least sit beside Libra.

"Sort of," Libra admitted. "Really, it's... always there. Once you've felt the call of the darkness, it never completely goes away. For some, the darkness' lure is a dream, where they deal vengeance and destruction over everything that ever hurt them. For others, it's a nightmare, where you feel too-heady with power, grow unable to control yourself even as you kill everything you love."

Lon'qu shifted a bit closer, trying to offer what little comfort he could, "Which is it for you?"

"I only _wish_ it were a nightmare," Libra turned his head and smiled with empty humor. "In truth... it's both."

"Then let it be both," Lon'qu tangled his fingers in Libra's. "Don't make it something it isn't."

"Oh, Lon'qu," Libra choked out a laugh that turned into a sob. "Lon'qu, please, I need you to do something for me."

"Name it," he said simply, unquestioning.

"Can you... can you pray for me?" Libra whispered hoarsely.

"I left the gods a long time ago," Lon'qu admitted, and Libra understood, because hadn't he done the same in the end? Then-- "But I'll try."

"You're certain?" Libra stroked his cheek softly.

"... for you? Yes," Lon'qu nodded. He left for a moment, struck up the match to light Libra's prayer candle (unused for so many nights now), and settled in on his knees, his forehead pressed to the floor. The prayer was quiet, but the night was quieter and Libra could hear him as he murmured, "Our Lady in the realm of spirits, hallowed be thy name. Let those who speak for you never speak in vain, let Your Voice carry Your Heart to those of the Earth, and carry them from pain, whether it be to the mortal arms of they we love or to Your arms in death, blessed be those who walk in Naga's name."

Libra looked at him in surprise, "You know Alm's Prayer."

Lon'qu did not look up, but replied regardless, "It's shorter than Marth's."

Libra's eyes crinkled, "It's a little funny. I never knew you were religious."

"I... used to be," Lon'qu answered, sitting and unsticking the joints of his knees. They cracked faintly as he blew out the light. "That prayer has no meaning to me anymore."

Libra wished he could say he didn't understand. But as he remembered the stave shattering over this prayer and _Lon'qu's blood_ , all he could reply was, "I know."

"Let me--" Lon'qu started, cutting himself off as he thought better of it. Hesitation, and then beginning again, "Let me pray to something I really believe in."

Libra looked at him, his eyes very soft, "You don't have to ask me if you wish to pray."

"Then," and here Lon'qu coughed awkwardly. "Blessed be those who walk in _Libra's_ name, those healed by hands bearing staves, those protected by hands bearing axes or tomes or whatever the hell Robin wants you to use now."

"What are you--" Libra sat up with a start. "Lon'qu, that's _sacrilegious_."

"You said I could pray," Lon'qu shifted, shutting his eyes and resolutely ignoring the flushing heat of his own cheeks. "And, um, you're something I believe in."

"I... suppose I did," Libra answered hesitantly, and then decisively, "And I can't very well tell you what to pray to."

"Then blessed be the ones who you inspire, whose strengths are taught by your example. Blessed be the ones who inspire you, who give you strength in battle," Lon'qu mumbled quickly, his ears aflame with mortification. "Blessed be the children carrying dolls made by your hand. Blessed be those who die by the same hand, because the heart behind it is full of mercy. Blessed be those you've guarded from injury, but double-blessed are those who block the blows meant for you. Blessed am _I_ , to draw strength from your support. And, I guess, blessed are the gods, who don't deserve your praise but receive it anyways."

"... oh," Libra said, blush spreading up to his ears, and wondering what _he'd_ done to deserve this kind of praise. There were, perhaps, more words in this prayer than Lon'qu had ever spoken at once in his entire _life_.

"Blessed are those who walk in Libra's name," Lon'qu chose his words carefully. "Because it's the only name I believe in."

"No," whispered Libra, the feeling in his chest driving him to pull Lon'qu in and seal the prayer with a kiss. And, though it was surely sacrilege, "Blessed am I to walk in _Lon'qu's_ name."

"Gods, Libra," Lon'qu shuddered, saying the words like they were one and the same to him. Finding himself unable to say anything that hadn't already been said, he brought Libra in for another kiss, open-mouthed and desperate.

Libra answered by twining his legs around Lon'qu's waist, falling back and pulling them against the bedroll together. Their teeth clicked together awkwardly, but they cared enough only to separate briefly and come back again on less-painful terms. Lon'qu's newfound pseudo-religious fervor drove him to kiss more roughly, more sloppily than usual, his teeth snagging on Libra's lip in a way that Libra shouldn't have found so arousing, but still filled him with a desire that pooled in his groin. He felt faintly guilty, having become so turned-on by something so close to worship, but the way Lon'qu pulled away only to nip at his jaw was just _too good_.

"H-hey," Lon'qu breathed, still red-faced and nervous. "Can I... can I try something?"

A ripple of arousal spread down Libra's spine as he watched Lon'qu's pinkened, debauched lips form the words, and the only way he could reply was, "Yes."

"Tell me if it hurts," Lon'qu hesitated for a second, shy even as his fingers toyed with the ties of Libra's sleeping pants.

"Of course," Libra breathed, feeling rather light-headed from the way Lon'qu eyed his crotch. Rather like a man who thirsted watching water drawn from a well.

Lon'qu's deft fingers undid his pants very rapidly after that, slowly guiding them over his hips and down his thighs with an entirely too-thorough hand. The pressure of his lover's fingers, even through a layer of cloth, made Libra bite his lip. Lon'qu watched Libra's cock bob out of the fabric and, subconsciously, his tongue flicked out against his lip.

It was unexpected, to say the least, when Lon'qu pressed his smooth cheek against the side of Libra's cock, inhaling the scent of it, gently cradling the other side with a coarse palm. He turned his face and let his moistened lips trail against the side of it, the jutting varicose vein and flushed skin, before returning and trailing the same pathway with the flat of his tongue. Libra watched, unable to look away, as Lon'qu tongued the openings of his looped skin, soothing the healed-over parting, before moving on to lay his mouth wholly over the glans.

Libra gasped, his hips jerking up in a small, aborted motion. Lon'qu took this as an encouragement, sucking more firmly, hollowing his cheeks out the way he remembered Libra had done once. His reward was a soft sigh and lithe fingers brushing through his hair, and so he began to shift the hand that encircled the rest of Libra's shaft, stroking and pressing against the skin with a delicate touch.

Careful to leave his teeth out of it, Lon'qu gradually lowered his head until he could almost feel the tip encroaching on his gag reflex. There was no room for his hand, then, as it slid to the jut of Libra's hip. He began to bob his head, slowly and then, as his confidence progressed, at a faster pace. Libra (ever courteous of the neighboring tents) muffled his moans in his hand, thighs clenching as he could feel the release begin to encroach on him.

"Lon'qu, I'm going to--" he began, but Lon'qu looked up at him with a gaze that was downright _smoldering_ and he lost it completely, then, spilling into his mouth with a keening groan. His cock valiantly gave another twitch as Lon'qu pulled away, cum shining at his lips, and ( _by the gods_ ) swallowed.

And then Lon'qu shoved his hand down his own sleepwear, jerking himself urgently as the taste of Libra's orgasm still lingered in his mouth-- once, twice-- before groaning and releasing into his own hand. He drew it out, still embarrassed, and wiped it against what looked like one of Libra's spare handkerchiefs.

"Gods," Libra groaned, his thighs still trembling from the intensity of it all.

"Libra," Lon'qu answered in the same reverent tone of voice before he, too, fell against their bedroll.

They laid together, then, curled up against one another in the sheets, Lon'qu's gangly figure spooning around Libra's back, the hand that had been the end of thousands of foes slung warmly over Libra's waist. Once upon a time, he thought, he could never be this close to another human being, much less willingly. But now, as hope and wonder and adoration built up pressure in his chest, it was far easier to believe-- if only because Lon'qu was something so easy to _believe in_.

"Lon'qu," he whispered, half-asleep and fuzzily post-coital. "I think it hurts."

"What hurts?" Lon'qu's forehead leaned comfortingly into the back of Libra's neck, where he could feel the gesture in his heart.

Libra smiled, "I think I might be so happy that it hurts."

* * *

**Bonus Scene**

* * *

"Libra, darling, what on Earth do you require all those tinctures for?" Maribelle frowned as she entered Anna's in-camp shop, where the merchant was very happily selling him a rather large case of vulneraries (buy-in-bulk discount, as she liked to say). She shut her fan and narrowed her eyes, "You haven't been concealing an injury, have you? Because I would be more than happy to share my own stock, and offer stave therapy besides."

"Thank you for your concern, Maribelle, but I am all right," Libra smiled pleasantly, but Maribelle's sharp eyes caught how he limped and buckled as he walked.

"Nonsense!" she scoffed, guiding him into a chair (Anna's shout of "you break it, you buy it" going mostly ignored). "You will at least let me examine you, so my mind can be put at ease?"

"I--" Libra started, but there was no arguing with her. She had already lifted his foot with the end of her parasol and was assessing it for sprains. "If you insist."

Then she, with a scowl, set the foot down and tapped his knee, as if checking for his reflex. Libra yelped in pain, narrowly missing kicking her in the leg, and Maribelle shouted, "Aha! Please do kindly roll up your pant legs for me, dear."

"Really, it's--" Libra cringed, not exactly eager to allow someone the sight of his mangled knees. One look from her, though, had him sighing and obeying anyways.

"Good heavens! How did you attain _these_?" Maribelle scolded, carefully avoiding the cracked, coagulating scabs, the bloodied seams where they met whitened flesh. "Libra, darling, this will  _not_  heal after something so simple as slapping on a vulnerary! Anna, be a dear and add a skein of bandages to my tab, if you would?"

"Only the best for one of my best customers," Anna winked, tossing her a tied roll. Maribelle caught it without even looking in her direction.

"I simply cannot imagine how you could have possibly injured yourself this way," the noblewoman tisked, even as she cracked the lid off a vulnerary with her teeth and poured the salve over the wounds. "At the battle on the skiffs with the Plegians? When we were fighting Risen in Ylisse's mountains? Or even at the hot springs three weeks ago-- the stones _were_ terribly slippery."

"I, um," Libra stuttered, turning red as he tried to keep his dignity. He offered weakly, in a half-truth _nobody_ believed, "Praying?"

Anna smothered her laughter, "In bed, you mean."

"Hmmm, yes," Maribelle answered thoughtfully, re-thinking Libra's limp. She tied the bandages with a careful series of knots, "In any case, change the bandages and re-apply your salves twice a day, take care to see me if you start bleeding again, and I mean from _any_ part of your body-- and do try to keep off of these for a few weeks. Don't let that callous brute of a man you call your _boyfriend_ pressure you into anything rough-- honestly, the way Feroxi men behave, you'd think they were complete savages."

Libra blushed furiously, too embarrassed to correct any of her assumptions, "I... of course."

Perhaps, just this once, he would follow her advice-- if only just to save himself from absolute mortification the next time he thought it would be safe to restock on lubricant.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Spoiler-y Warnings** : Potentially Dubious Consent (sex initiated due to potentially dying in battle), Crisis of Faith, Self-Injury Via Blood Magic, Botched Circumcision (past).
> 
> still woefully beta-less for the FE fandom... apologies for anything i may have missed.


End file.
